Dimensions and Diversions
by KillRomantic
Summary: Those who survived were induced by a folly-like perception once the war ended. But evil and temptation still lingered amidst them and, for Hermione, took shape of an iniquitous affair.
1. I: Ambiguity

**Spoilers:** This is **very **parallel to _Deathly Hallows _– a pre-Epilogue, if you will – with a few exceptions of course.

**Disclaimer:** All mentioned characters and settings are owned by JK Rowling and publishers who partook in the HP series. No money is being profited from this story nor do I claim anything as my own; no copyright law is being broken.

**Author's Notes:** Unlike my other stories, I believe the subjects I touch upon and the writing itself in this one is quite mature, although not intricately explained and/or described to earn an M rating, but you never know in the future. I'm a little disgusted how OOC I wrote my other stories' characters so I'm attempting to keep the ones in here in tact as possible. Also, chapters' length will vary, like, hardcore. Feedback would be awesome too, thank you! :)

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The light drizzle that visited the night before still refused to give up the air, maintaining its steady pace as light droplets of rain fell from the heavens down to the awaiting earth. Cool wind that had associated itself with the bleak atmosphere and dreary weather also managed to seep under a house's crack, running chilly tendrils of rigid air throughout the rooms. The house's windows and outside walls were already shielded completely over with the minuscule rain from earlier that morning and Hermione's previous plans of cleaning the nearly abandoned confinements of her home had been tossed out her mind once her eyes set on her drenched windows; other worries preoccupying her anyway.

She was tired. No, _exhausted_. And terribly, terribly frustrated with her husband's recent drawn out absence, but felt as if she had little next to no right to express her irritation that revolved around him. Ron was, after all, trying his hardest to maintain his Auror position and certainly wasn't in the position to call his off days or switch his demanding schedule. Still, a little family time would have been nice and she rarely ever asked for much but under Ron's circumstances, her wishes couldn't be fulfilled. Not yet at least.

Most figured Hermione would have paved herself a worthy job by now and, to be completely honest, she did as well. But her life had seemingly taken a different path when she unexpectedly discovered a bundle of joy beginning to form within her one morning Ginny and Harry were over for breakfast. She was in denial at first, blatantly outright refusing the possibility of her being pregnant. But as weeks progressed and her symptoms grew considerably worse, she decided to take matters in her own hands and, after at least twenty tests – magic and non-magic alike – numbly concluded that she was, indeed, pregnant. Very pregnant.

After giving birth and about a year later she found herself catering after her and Ron's very own child at the promising age of twenty-eight, bound to her home, and with no occupation. Well, as of now at least. A few days ago she received an owl from McGonagall, Hogwarts' new respectable headmistress, requesting her services for the school's second semester coming up within a few weeks. Without hesitation she jumped at the chance but now doubt had encased her mind.

What if Ginny and Harry couldn't handle Rose and their own children? What post would she fill? Did Ron secretly disagree with the idea? Was it even possible to juggle her family with her new exigent job?

Suddenly Hermione could no longer dwell in her worries, cocking her head to the side when an abrupt popping sound came from her kitchen. And before she could lift herself from the couch, in bustled her dear friend, Ginny, with her fiery red hair awry and her expression murderous. The brunette carefully studied her fuming friend from her seat, contemplating what to do to soothe the enraged witch whatever the reason for the uninvited intrusion be. The bustling redhead was known to have a short temper, much like her brother, Ron, and had the tendency to act upon her emotions rather than think them out.

"Ginn–" Apparently, she wasn't allowed to finish; her friend sharply cutting her off just as she began.

"Honestly, he's always pulled outrageous stunts with–" Ginny stopped, swallowing back down her deceased brother's name that rested on the tip of her tongue; Hermione instantly knew whom Ginny's inexplicable anger was directed toward. "I just never thought he'd do something like _this_. Mum and dad'll have a fit! Oh and when I get my hands on him–!"

Her eyes darted sharply to Hermione and the brunette stiffened under the intense and expected gaze. "I, err, what?"

"George, Hermione! George!" exclaimed the boiling redhead. Her friend blinked in response. "Oh for the love of – he's leaving Angelina! For _Cho Chang_ of all people!"

Hermione couldn't help but allow herself to blink dimly again, inhaling the rather controversial news. When she appeared as if Ginny's words had sunken in, she gulped down the hardened lump in her throat and spoke evenly – which, assumingly, wasn't an ideal move on her part for it seemed that the female Weasley only became further infuriated by her controlled words.

"Well, to be truthful, I assumed George never really was particularly in love with Angelina." She paused, glancing over at her friend, and found that her opinion had only gained Ginny's scowl deepening. "I'm sorry, Ginny. But I really can't think of much else to say."

"Not much else to say?" As always, the redhead was quick to reply with a sharp tone. "How about mentioning my brother whom everyone presumed as a committed, happily married man leaving his wife of nearly five years for some snooty, _engaged_ girl – because she certainly _isn't_ a woman pulling off a stunt like this – who nearly ruined Harry's entire perception on women?!"

"Ginny!" shushed Hermione. "Please, I just put Rose down for a nap a couple of minutes ago –"

"Hermione, I think you're missing the severity of this situation," Ginny continued harshly, louder than before. "Angelina is completely distraught about this – George just upped and left this morning and I heard Cho called off her engagement with Roger Davies hours prior! And all you can think of –"

"Is my daughter who hasn't had a wink of sleep last night, how you're basing off Cho's intentions from our school days, your dear and damaged brother, George, who never completely healed himself after Fred died–" Ginny visibly flinched at the mention of the near forbidden name, "–and Angelina who failed at fixing him. Yes, Ginny, that _is_ all I can think of."

The redhead grew silent as the terribly sarcastic and cynical words belonging to a woman she thought as her best friend raked across her freckle-splattered skin and the faint sound of rain bounced shamelessly against the emptied house's windows around them. Time stretched between the two women had nearly reached eternity until Ginny finally spoke after clearing her throat awkwardly.

"So, then, you think Angelina wasn't… right for him?"

Hermione allowed herself to release a sigh upon the question. "I just think she lacked the capability of healing George, that's all. She's a wonderful woman, no doubt. And, although I don't necessarily agree with Cho and her past actions, if George feels she can do what Angelina couldn't, then that's his opinion and his choice. If this is what he wants, well then, it'd be wrong to deprive him of it – no matter what the circumstance."

"Still," frowned Ginny as the brunette stood to her feet. "I feel like he's cheated Angelina five years of her life. "

"But you shouldn't feel guilt over it; it's _their_ martial problem after all. It's up to them to deal with it."

Her frown became undecipherable for a moment. "I'm terrified that he's cheated on her with Cho. Even more so because it's _George_, not Bill or Charlie or even Percy. I just… I wanted his life to be as perfect as it could be after the war and I thought his marriage was like…"

"Yours with Harry and mine with Ron?" suggested Hermione promptly, her tone brisk and sharp. "Well, not all can be."

Ginny allowed her gaze to momentarily flit from her friend to a window pane, guilt cowering in the shadow of her brown eyes. Suddenly they lightened with worry, fixed on an object increasing in size as it drew in closer. "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, "An owl!"

Following the redhead's eyes, Hermione had too spotted the brown speck gliding from the gray horizon to the closed window and gradually shaped into an owl's figure. She hurried toward the glass sill and wrenched it open, shielding her face with her arm from the brewing storm's rain and let the soaked animal flutter in.

"Strange time to be sending mail, especially under weather conditions like today," commented Ginny as she languidly sat on the couch Hermione had just stood from.

"It's from McGonagall," Hermione informed once she gingerly extracted the letter from the owl's leg and performed a drying spell on the paper drenched with built up rain. Scanning listlessly through the dried parchment her eyes widened at one particular point and lifted her gaze to meet her friend's awaiting one. "I'm replacing Slughorn."

"For potions?" Ginny squinted. "Well, besides, Blaise Zabini, you _were_ the top student in that class. Wonder why Slughorn dropped his position halfway through the year?"

Hermione frowned. "McGonagall never gave me a reason, though I presume it isn't really my business to begin with."

"Anything else she wrote?"

"Nothing exciting, just where Slughorn left off and I'll be picking up."

"Lovely." blinked Ginny. She ran a hand through her hair before tucking a strand behind her ear, slowly standing to her feet. The tension had not lessened between the two and it appeared as if it was suffocating her, or, at least, causing great discomfort. Her expression was strained as she mumbled lowly, "Well, better be on my way. Sorry for the intrusion."

The brunette smiled gently. "Don't worry."

Ginny then exchanged a smile sheepishly, however, there was a slightly corrupt quality to hers. "Maybe there's a hidden scandal behind the Hogwarts's staff. Make sure to tell me if there is."

"I highly doubt there will be," Hermione laughed. "But I'll be sure to tell you if there is."

With a quick nod from the redhead, Ginny disapparated without another word, leaving Hermione to the presage that would slowly seep its way toward her the next coming months.

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_-Yeah. First chapter is pretty much a catch-up on Hermione's background and I know you're like, wtf, Cho and George? Well, to clarify your confusion, their relationship is actually foreshadowing to the plot and, plus, Cho is a favorite character of mine (I can see all your faces now, but it really shouldn't be a surprise considering two of my six stories of my already posted stories are about her) and I never quite understood why Rowling paired George and Angelina together while taking the Yule Ball into account. Besides, I'm a Fred/Angelina shipper to the death. Literally. And, admittedly, I'm trying to ween you into the pairing because I recently found a strange love for them. Buahahaha. :)  
_

_Anyways, it'd be pretty sweet if you guys sent any type of feedback/review. Thanks!_


	2. II: Homecoming

**Disclaimer:** All mentioned characters and settings are owned by JK Rowling and publishers who partook in the HP series. No money is being profited from this story nor do I claim anything as my own; no copyright law is being broken.

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"Ron, I don't think I can do this." Hermione paused, the suitcase held tightly in her hand shuddering along with her body. "No. I definitely can't do this."

The redhead smiled uneasily, his comforting skills generally quite fickle and awkward when it came to women. He tried his best during the second war, though his efforts did little to quell her fear; however, she still regarded them and feigned okay, but now with the war over, his endeavors at soothing her had lessened. Still, she felt her stomach settle slightly when he placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

"Honestly, Hermione, it's just _teaching_," he calmed her. "You know as well as I do that you probably could've taught our classes better than our professors when we went there."

"But you and Rose…"

"Will be fine," he assured, sliding his hand from her shoulder to around her neck and kissed her forehead gently. "Besides, you're not the head for any of the Houses so you can come home during the weekends and Harry and Ginny's invited me and Rose over for dinner–"

"Dinner?" she interrupted upon the mention of the word. She grabbed his thick wrist between her fingers before bringing it closer to her face, reading the time on his wristwatch with alarm. "Oh Merlin, I promised McGonagall I'd be there fifteen minutes ago! That's terribly unprofessional of me, I–"

"Better get going, yeah," he smiled faintly before kissing her cheek. "Send me an owl when you get settled in and everything. Tonight or tomorrow, doesn't matter."

She nodded before promptly standing on her tiptoes, returning the kiss on his cheek much to his delight, and dissapparted from her husband, her child, and her home to the outskirts of Hogsmeade covered by a thin sheet of polished snow refracted by light from the night's moon. Instead of boarding Hogwarts Express earlier that morning she decided to have one last dinner with her family and informed she'd apparate to Hogsmeade and walk to the castle in time for dinner instead. Incidentally her latter promise was broken and she was evidently running quite late. Trudging hastily through the town and onto the pathway paved toward Hogwarts, she eventually found herself within the castle's warm grounds and began wandering through the familiar halls.

By now she figured dinner was over and the students had scampered back to their selected Houses, leaving her free to walk the hallways without accompanying noise and questionable glances from adolescents. To her surprise, however, someone else was occupying the empty corridors with her.

"Funny, Granger. From what I can recall, you were usually the one to opt for punctuality, but I suppose a decade can wear one's preference down."

Hermione stilled before she jerked her head to the side, craning her neck to glance toward the back of her before reeling herself about to face the intruder. She found a lanky man with a smirk creating a grotesque expression across his otherwise decent features. She then blinked at him, drawing up a blank for his name and felt slightly uncomfortable with his knowledge of her while she had little of his.

"Oh, what's this? You don't remember me, do you Granger?" he proceeded toward her, his cruel and calculating eyes seemingly devouring her whole. "Well, I suppose a Slytherin's name wouldn't mean much to you. Especially one that didn't partake in Malfoy's little shadow of glory. But I'll give you one clue and guess to who I am to prove you're still the brightest witch in Hogwarts."

"Go on then," she heard herself demand with full confidence, ignoring the uneasiness that balled painfully in her stomach. The atmosphere that associated with the man before her did not sit well at all and she felt her right hand twitch slightly, its palm instinctively turning toward her wand located within the depths of her jacket's pocket.

"'_freshly mowed grass and new parchment and…_'" he deliberately trailed off and she assumed he was quoting something she had said in their adolescent days, however, could not distinguish it amongst the hundreds of other things she ever said while in Hogwarts. The obvious delayed answer gave way to her uncertainty and an indurate expression slid its way into place on his bemused face.

Well, she thought grimly, there was no doubt that he _was_, as he stated earlier, a Slytherin with the way he carried himself on. But exactly what Slytherin was he?

Think, Hermione, _think_.

When did she ever mention or think of lawns? How on earth were they related in the same sentence as parchment? And… and _what_? It was then when a vague memory had shone through her fogged mind and she immediately recognized the man whom challenged her wit minutes prior.

"Nott." someone called from down the hall before she could and, for a fleeting moment, his expression faltered as the two glanced toward the voice's direction.

"Neville?" Hermione blinked as the other man approached the two. He clumsily smiled, confirming her address. "Oh Neville! It's so nice to see you!"

"You too, Hermione," laughed the heavier set wizard before redirecting his eyes upon the other, his gaze hardening visibly as his tone grew distant. "Nott, what's the reason behind dinner's disappearance?"

Nott's smirk widened maliciously. "Don't question my intentions, Longbottom. I can assure you this encounter wasn't premeditated like you assume it is and I certainly wasn't planning on causing any discomfort to the glorious Hermione Granger. I simply retired from dinner earlier and ran into her in the halls. Though, I _am_ a little curious to why she's late. Not a trait of hers from what I can remember."

"Fair enough." Neville dismissed coolly. "Oh, and it's Hermione Weasley now. Strange, Nott, you're normally up to date."

"Not with the golden trio," sneered Nott. "I tend to avert any news of them, they're not worth reading in _my_ opinion. But, never mind what I'm aware of, Longbottom, I'll leave you two to yourselves."

Neville's gaze followed the retreating wizard until Nott had vanished completely as he pivoted and headed down a different corridor; the chubby man's steel expression softening when he redirected his eyes upon the brunette. "Hermione," he smiled warmly, "how're you and Ron?"

"Fantastic," she answered, beaming; waiting until they were a few decent feet away from where they had met until she questioned, "Neville, that wasn't Theodore Nott by any chance was it?"

"As a matter of a fact, you're right," nodded her cherubic friend, motioning for her to follow him. She obliged and he began to lead her down the opposite direction Theodore had headed.

Theodore Nott. He had certainly grown from his stringy appearance a decade back from the last time she had managed to catch a glimpse of him in the shadow of the Slytherin House. Appearance wise, he was still slightly ungainly and a little soiled looking with a suspicious ambiance creeping about him. Not that she expected much else from the likes of him anyway.

"But his father was a Death Eater; you know that," Hermione frowned suspiciously. "At the Department of Mysteries, his father tried attacking Harry but I stunned him and…"

"He was sent to Azkaban after we escaped, yeah," finished Neville solemnly. "But they never proved Nott followed his father's footsteps though. Apparently, right after our sixth year, one of his relatives sent a letter to Hogwarts explaining why they were pulling Nott out for the next upcoming year and that they were, supposedly, going to travel around for a bit. He returned a year after you did to finish his N.E.W.Ts and sent in an application to teach three years after he graduated. Minerva claimed she had no reason to refuse him a job and, with his credentials, hired him as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"So Professor Mc-I mean, Minerva, gave him the Defense Against the Dark Arts post without taking his father's background in account?"

Neville nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, she's trying to rid the bigotry our school still holds for the Slytherin House. But I don't care what anyone says, I don't trust him or the lot. He may never have followed Voldemort or, at least, doesn't have the mark to _show_ his loyalties, but his friends most certainly do." He then led her toward the kitchen, gathering her food for her dinner from the house-elves and then proceeded to show her to the staff quarters and to her room where she'd reside in for the remainder of the semester's several weeks.

"Thank you, Neville," she smiled kindly at him as he sharply swished his wand and the objects from her suitcase began to float their way toward the room's closet and bureau. He had certainly grown into a marvelously skilled wizard from the first time he performed magic during his earlier years in Gryffindor.

"Tell Harry, Ron, and Ginny I say hi," he exchanged the smile before departing ways with her to head to his own room.

With her things already in place and her stomach already full from her dinner she had with Ron and Rose hours prior, Hermione slipped into her night attire and crawled onto her lone bed lacking the usual warmth of another body normally occupying it. Laying in the room's darkness she had allowed her mind to wander as her eyes strayed to the darkest of shadows. She assumed Rose was already asleep in her crib while Ron passed out minutes after, snoring loudly with his mouth opened slightly as the ungodly noise roared from his lips. Ron. Her heart twitched slightly at the name and she felt a smile curl her lips upward fondly as her eyelids began to flutter shut. Her musings then traveled to the man she had run into before Neville while she began to lose her conscious to a seducing slumber. Her mind was already set on the idea that he had attributed to the second war – his father's malicious face searing itself within her hazed mind along with his disgusting thirst to kill Harry – although she had little next no substantial proof to support her suspicions.

Theodore Nott. Son of Death Eater Nott; cold, dispassionate, sadistic and calculating. Once a deprived boy who was too mute during his adolescence for anyone to strive for his hidden and locked background. Now merely a man most associated with the dwelling, horrific shadow his father had cast behind. Most importantly, an enigma Hermione would certainly _not_ allow herself to bother with.

_Theodore Nott_. The last thought on her mind until she completely lost her conscious to sleep.

* * *

_-Man. I've been trying so hard to keep this plot's settings and characters as canon as I can unlike my other stories which most are admittedly AU up the ying-yang. Hah. Anyway, from my brief research on Hogwarts, there's little information where professors live during the week unless they have a house in Hogsmeade. I find it imaginable that they return to their families during weekends and holidays unless they're heads of Houses or the Headmaster/mistress. So I assume they're provided with rooms for themselves __during the week __like other boarding schools. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong but I'm probably not going to change the chapter, regardless. I kinda need it in the plot. haha_

_And ummmm, more interaction with Theodore (along with his thoughts on a certain redhead) will definitely ensue next chapter. w00t._

_Blahhhh, I hate this chapter. May revise later on. Anyway, pushing my self loathing aside, I'd love any type of feedback and whatnot and thanks to those who sent some for the first chapter. You guys are way awesome :)_


	3. III: Sonnets

**Disclaimer:** All mentioned characters and settings are owned by JK Rowling and publishers who partook in the HP series. No money is being profited from this story nor do I claim anything as my own; no copyright law is being broken.

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Neville watched as Hermione hastily propped herself on the chair next to his and began mindlessly prodding her lunch with the tip of her fork, biting her bottom lip as her eyebrows furrowed together. He grinned to himself before inquiring casually with an undertone of mockery to his question, "How were morning lessons, _Professor_?"

"Honestly Neville, it was terrible," she frowned. "I could barely get through the lesson without them questioning about Harry, Ron, or myself."

A smile pulled the aforementioned man's lips upwards at her exasperation and he laughed lowly. "Don't worry, the hype will die down eventually."

"I can imagine they gave the same reaction when you started teaching?" she arched an eyebrow and he humbled his face, receiving her eyebrow rising higher. "Oh, don't be modest, Neville. You're just as well known as Ron and I are. I'd say Harry too, but his fame is infinite, really. I don't think anyone else's could compare besides Voldemort's. But there's a share of rumors and facts of you floating around the Wizarding world too."

Neville laughed again. "Not as bad as you three, especially when you're put together. But I did get a fair share of remarks and questions thrown my way when I began to teach Herbology."

"Where do they _get_ their information?" questioned Hermione, flustered as she shook her head while he took a long sip of his pumpkin juice. "For Merlin's sake, they knew about Victor Krum and myself which happened _ages_ ago!" She sighed to herself before continuing, "Then the rumors spiraled into complete fiction. Really, I '_ran off with Victor after the Tri Wizard Tournament ended and lived with him until the end of summer until Ron flew a dragon over to Germany and whisked me off back to Hogwarts where I ungraciously failed to thank him and his gallant efforts and therefore forced him into striking up a false relationship with Lavender White ­_– because getting her last name correct would be horrid to the story and everything –_ to make me realize that I loved him…_' did I? Well, I'd definitely fancy myself a summer like that."

"Hermione, I need yer help," interrupted a man before Neville could comment. Neville and Hermione glanced over their shoulders to find Hagrid smiling hopefully at her. The brunette glanced at her friend before quietly excusing herself and followed the large man to the corner of the Great Hall, who paused to drop his head low as he murmured quietly to her, "No need ter be alarm'd or an'thing. But I need yer help with Hogwarts' thestrals."

"Thestrals?" she repeated, blinking.

Hagrid nodded his head briskly. "Yeah, they like compan' yeh see. It'd be great if yeh could visit them durin' one o' yer breaks_…_"

--

Hermione inhaled a steady breath, the opposing sensation in her stomach growing as she began to head toward the Forbidden Forest like she had so many years ago. Truthfully, she knew she now possessed the ability to see the death horses and that acknowledgment only seemed to draw painful memories she attempted to cage in the back of her mind. When she was a few good yards away from the dark area weaved together by shadows and trees she managed to catch sight of something quite out of place.

Theodore Nott was also walking toward the entrance of the forest.

She parroted his steps, feeling fear and suspicion increase and rise in her chest as she realized they both were separately heading toward the same destination; the only difference between their walk was that _she_ had a reason to be traveling to the darker bounds of Hogwarts while he had not. It was then, whilst her thoughts, had she miss-stepped and placed her right foot on a feeble branch, snapping it in half when she applied pressure. Theodore's neck snapped directly to where she was standing and she knew she was caught; drawing her wand without hesitation.

A smirk stretched across his lips at her instinctive action and he twisted his body around to face her. "Stalking me, are you Hermione? Rather uncharacteristic of you, isn't it?" She faltered at the mention of her first name rolling smoothly off his foreign tongue and she lowered her wand slightly, gazing at him through perplexed eyes. Her confusion only seemed to fuel the mockery in his smirk and he hissed, "What? I personally don't believe you should soil yourself with Weasley's name taking what he failed to accomplish into account. Unless, that is, you married one of his older brothers?"

"What are you doing down here, Nott?" she asked lowly, ignoring his latter question, shadowing her abashment with her incertitude of his intentions.

"Same reason why you're here," he answered nonchalantly, his dark robes eloquently trailing behind him as he swiftly neared her; providing her with little time to react. Suddenly the tip of her wand jabbed him in the chest and she realized she had forgot to lower her erect arm upon his approach, though, her slow response to his advances had worked in her favor and managed to create a sufficient gap between them. He nodded off to the side of them and she heard a quieted shrill escape a dark creature observing them from feet away.

It was a thestral and she squinted in confusion. Hagrid asked _him_ to help with the thestrals?

Theodore had seemed to read her thoughts fairly transparent through her large brown eyes and his smirk grew bitter. "Surprised I can see death as well?"

Hermione then withdrew her arm and tucked her wand in her coat's pocket, meanwhile lacking an answer.

"Well, would it surprise you more if I were to say that I could see thestrals the same time Potter could?" He immediately gained her attention and she appeared instantly alert at his vague words. "You don't remember when Rubeus introduced us to them? Didn't _I_ raise my hand along Potter's when he questioned who could see thestrals?"

"I tried not to stray my attention to Slytherins," she muttered coldly.

"I see you're still at it," he countered, his tone equally as removed.

"Well do forgive me that I failed at brushing off your terrible references of me you fancied to use on a regular basis," she snapped sharply in response. "Was it really _that_ funny that I'm a muggleborn and outperformed your entire House?" Theodore's smirk faded slightly. "Surely it had to be, right? What else would possess you and Malfoy to snicker and laugh at me when Slughorn questioned my blood background?"

Theodore's mood seemed to have darkened. "We were amused for our separate reasons," he assured.

"Really now?" she cocked an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Was Malfoy laughing at me because I was a mudblood and were you laughing at me because your father –"

"Thestrals," he interrupted suddenly; sharply. "Well, aren't you special, Hermione? You can see them now, can't you?"

"Never mind what I can see, Nott," she glared, "Why would Hagrid ask _you_ in particular to see the thestrals?"

"Obviously he had requested for my assistance before you ever arrived," he grinned corruptly. "But if you insist on knowing, despite what the rest of my House thought of the Care of Magical Creatures class, I was actually quite interested in it. Although, I was admittedly a little disgusted with Rubeus's teaching methods when I was younger, I adapted to them gradually. Partially because I wanted to excel and also because everyone else appeared to have loathed his class, including Potter, Weasley, and you. In fact, I recall you never returned for your sixth year."

"The class's credit wasn't necessary for our careers, actually," defended Hermione. "And even if your story is charming, Nott, I suspect your intentions otherwise."

"That's rather an act of bigotry, Hermione–"

"_Stop_ addressing me by that."

He paused, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. "And what? Expect me to call you by _Weasley_? Don't assume I've gained any respect or whatnot for you; to me you're still irritating and pathetically ignorant. But, like I said earlier, his name tarnishes your reputation. He never achieved anything great, did he? Only went on the ride with you and Potter. And besides, Hermione's your name, isn't it? Deprived from Shakespeare's _The Winter_'_s Tale_."

Hermione's jaw slackened at the mention of the acclaimed book and surprise struck her particularly hard. "You read a muggle book?"

Theodore looked mildly amused by her reaction. "Actually, it was used to hold doors open in my house. When I was fifteen I decided to skim through it to see for myself if it was as worthless as my family claimed it as."

"And?"

"Well, the execution of the entire play was rather messy. Isn't Shakespeare deemed as one of the greatest muggle writers?"

She frowned, however, hadn't expected his answer to implicate any type of praise for a muggle's work. Her calculating eyes then traveled from his face to his hands gripping a bag filled with, presumably, raw meat for the thestrals and a tattered book. Able to catch a glimpse of its title her stare faltered and she blurted before containing herself, "you're reading _Les Misérables_?" Her expression hardened while his wavered. "Or are you just throwing it away? I understand the Forbidden Forest is rarely visited, however, should not by any means be used as a dumping ground for what you consider garbage."

"Now when did I ever say _Les Misérables_ was garbage?" he questioned. "Now _The Winter_'_s Tale_ maybe."

"You do know _Les Misérables_ is written by a muggle." she prodded.

He shrugged. "Nothing can be perfect, Hermione. Anyway, I suppose I'll visit the thestrals today; you can tomorrow seeing as you're giving off a rather strong impression you'd prefer to stay far away from me." She didn't respond to his suggestion which only confirmed his thoughts further. "Right," he then sneered, "see you at dinner, that is, _if_ you decide to look at me."

For no apparent reason Hermione felt anger boil inside her veins as Theodore turned and began to walk away. He really hadn't done anything to belittle her nor taunt her either; in fact, even called her respectably by her first name. Still livid thoughts had sprang to the forefront of her brain and, although she tried to wrench them from herself, they remained planted securely in her mind; heating the fury spiraling within her body. Maybe his disregard affected her so severely because she half-expected him to slip into his endowed Slytherin ways but that _was_ admittedly in the past. But was it really necessary to engage in a semi-formal conversation with him?

Shaking her head, she sighed and watched her visible white breath lose itself to the rigid surrounding air.

For the most part, she hated herself for being so irrationally prejudice to him but how could she not? After all, his father _had_ tried to kill her along with her friends. And like a majority of the Slytherins, she presumed Theodore had taken the same path as his relatives.

With that thought in mind, she then promptly shook her head again and pivoted around, heading back to the castle without glancing back.

Theodore smirked. He was already getting to her.

* * *

_-Okay, so I sorta lied. Well, not entirely. I mean, I _did_ give a brief idea of what Theodore thinks of Ron but I really don__'__t think I justified it enough. Guhhh. I had to rewrite this chapter about a billion times and I__'m still not completely satisfied with it._

_I'm not entirely sure how I picture Theodore as a whole. Looks wise, I just know Harry described him as weedy, though, Harry also isn't really forgiving when he characterizes Slytherins. I'm sure he picks at their flaws rather than take their entire appearance into consideration. So, really, I don't know _what _Theodore looks like, but I'd recommend you browse through deviantart or something and picture him whichever way you want. But, to me, he _**is**_ a brunet. Definitely not a blond because then, to me, he__'__d be somewhat of a replica of Draco._

_Also, although my school started up this week, my updates most likely won__'__t fluctuate the slightest because, well, let__'__s be honest, I suck at updating to begin with. Anyway, I posted a Theodore-centric story so you should totally check it out __'__cause, um, I love self-pimping myself. Other than that, if you__'re able to vote__, pay attention to the conventions and the running candidates! It's been eight years guys, let__'__s make a right choice! __(Or, you know, wait until Ron Paul decides to run again_…_) _:D


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